Toffee Luck
by petite.poupee
Summary: AU. It started with a note and a cup of coffee at a shop down the lane. All Human.Fleurmione. M for language
1. 1: An idea of what it tastes like

**1: An idea of how it tastes**

_An: New Story! Yes. Thank you for the people who supported my stories! I hope you like them and I hope you'll come to like this one as well. I'm back with new slash goodness. I'm leaving my ABC's of love for a while. I hope you enjoyed this._

_AU. All Human. Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter._

Toffee Luck

**1**

The sound of the bell ringing in the quiet and warm shop reached the ears of the early dweller. Her hands cupped the mug lightly, inhaling the soft caramel flavoring that wafted into her nose. She sighed. This was something she could get used to. She closed her eyes, as she took a sip of the sweetened coffee, it did not scar her tongue and it was not that hot—for her it was just right. She hummed into the cup showcasing her delight to the natural flavor it left in its wake. She took another sip, rolled the contents on her tongue, just to taste it once more.

England air was cold; she noted that when she first arrived at the country by plane, though it still made her shiver after moving in two weeks ago. She was stationed here after a few months of accounting work from her company. They complimented her works that they were wonderfully accurate and she might even make a better income when she goes to England, they said. It perked her ears when the thought hit her as they explained it to her. It was a great opportunity, she told herself, to learn British or better yet proper English. She wanted to speak the language better than anyone in her family. It was something she thought that might help her in the future. She smiled at the memories she reminisced.

The woman glanced down at her table, the newspaper lay open before her and news of impending storms and fogs met her gaze. She frowned "Yet another rainy week" she said to herself the accent still thick as the words rolled on her tongue. Even though she knew that England was one of the most humid country she was still not accustomed to it. She had grown up in France for twenty years of her life; she bathed in the sun almost every day, enjoying the sun kisses on her skin. Her unusually light blonde hair was proof of that. She missed France already; she mused but shook the thought away almost immediately. This was an opportunity she, again, told herself.

The bell rung once more, this time it was the bell that catches the attention of the costumers who waited for their orders. The light scuffing of shoes behind the counter was very distinguishable if one listened carefully. It was something that this woman became so accustomed to in the first week she stumbled into this store. Her blue eyes glanced at the coffee tender, watching the white-blouse-and-brown-aproned waitress move fluidly behind the marble-wood counter. Mixing and brewing different blends of coffee.

"Order up!" The lady-brewer called. An old man in his fifties walked towards the counter; obviously it was take out since the girl behind the counter called out.

"Thank you for this" The man held up the brown paper bag of what seems to be his usual waffle and cup of coffee, he then, usually as he does, held out a pound—a tip for the cheery waitress, before heading off to work down the street.

"It's your usual" the girl smiled as she took the tip from the man. "And welcome, come again!" she said. The door bell rang signifying that the costumer had left. The French woman watched the girl retreat back to her counter, usually putting cream on top of pastries freshly made from the kitchen. This was the routine that played before her at seven in the morning. It was comforting that she starts her day watching the interaction of this cheery waitress towards her usual costumers. They were showered with smiles. It made her feel happy when she saw them pasted on the lips of the counter-attendant, it was something that made her day and her usual morning sweeter, she had to admit. She took her cup once more and sips her caramel latte. She then looked at her wrist watch, "quarter to eight" she said to no one but her, and proceeded to fold her early paper and leave her usual tip. She stood up, grabbed her fashioned trench coat, and glided out of her booth. She walked rather closely to the counter, prancing like a ballerina with a waft of confidence and eventually slows down—which was barely noticeable— just to look at the brown eyes of the teenager who was working diligently on her pastries. With a short nod, she turned her head towards the general direction of the door. The bell rang and fell silent.

The girl, suddenly, laid down her piping bag and wiped her fingers on her apron. She walked away from the counter in a hurried pace towards the place the woman sat. _The second cubicle by the window,_ she thought. She let her fingers grab the crisp pound bill, the woman's payment for the latte, and the usual note it was left with.

'_It tastes exquisite' _it said in its usual elegant cursive writing, the girl sighed as she folded the note and placed it on her apron pocket.

"Have you gotten her name yet, Mione?" The girl called 'Mione' looked at her companion who was serving the others with the shop's usual blend. The girl with reddish hair color just shrugged at Mione's silence as she placed the cup of coffee down the table and smiled at the waiting costumer.

"You know you could ask her for it" the red-head told her. Mione raised a brow, inquisitively looking for some sanity from the red-head before her. She just shook her head and sighed.

"That'd be rude, Ginny" finally she talked.

Ginny chuckled, shaking her head as if her friend was missing something obvious "You could always pretend needing it for her coffee" she pointed.

"She never takes her coffee out" argued Mione. She walked back to her usual place—behind the counter. The ka-ching sounded loudly in the confinements of the shop as she punched in the necessary numbers, took out the change and placed it on her pocket.

"Did she tip you?" Ginny asked, setting down the coffee pitcher on its place right on top of the counter. She took a sit in one of the bar stools and propped her head with her elbows, leaning closely as Mione began to work.

"Yes, she did. She usually pays extensively rather than leaving the exact amount. Seriously, who would leave five-pounds for a two-pound coffee?" Her hands glided towards the piping bag and she started piping white whipped cream on top of the waffles. She grabbed two bottles, one of blueberry and chocolate and dumped them on the sides and top of the awaiting dessert.

"Wow, a three-pound tip. We usually just get one-pound at most, she's rich" Ginny took a swipe of whipped cream from the dessert only to be swatted by the hands of her friend. "Hermione!" she clutched her hand cradling it as if it was hurt badly. "That hurt!"

"Well, you should've thought about it before you did it! Now, look at it" Hermione scolded, shaking her head as she pointed at the ruined dessert. She grabbed the brown syrup and dumped them carefully once more, obviously fixing the micro-damage received. Ginny chuckled while rolling her eyes at her friend's complex behavior of being a perfectionist. She could not blame the girl—really, since she already knew everything about her every bit of her at one point, so, she just laughs at what seemed to be her friend's unusual antics—that being obsessively compulsive. Hermione would often argue that she was just an artist and everything has to be artistically perfect though in the normal eyes, she was just, plainly at it is a perfectionist and they would laugh about it until Hermione walks out embarrassed. But, today, it was unusually different and Ginny knew so she did not press any further.

"It was just a pinch, jeez, you take work really seriously" replied the girl named Ginny—accompanied by a sigh at that very moment.

Hermione did not listen—shrugging Ginny's lame apology and went about her work. Satisfied, she got hold of the plate and moved it to the awaiting display cage. She then took another one and repeated the process except with Ginny's hand trying to take a taste. There was silence for those few moments.

"You're lucky Ron's your brother or I'll do more than just swat it away" she mumbled but clear enough for Ginny to hear. The red-head's eyes widened at the revelation that came from her best friend's mouth. She could not believe it, or rather, not chose to believe it.

"You're still dating him? I thought you caught him cheating with a girl named Penelope" Ginny who was obviously shocked shrieked.

"_Yes_, we are. Why are you even against your brother?"

"Why shouldn't I? I caught him red-handed as he snog that woman and grope her arse. You're still my best friend, mind you. I'd rather choose you than tolerate my brother's actions. 'Sides you're better off with _someone_ else" Hermione could not help noticing the emphasis on the word 'someone' when Ginny told her. She rolled her eyes and turned to get the other waiting pastries.

"You're brother is not that bad, he actually went to my apartment to make-up" defended Hermione.

"You mean to_ have_ make-up sex" This made Hermione blush. Ginny smirked. "I can't believe you. You're dating him because of _that_?"

"Shhh! You know that's private!" the coffee-tender shushed. She frantically gazed around the shop hoping that no one heard Ginny's embarrassing statement. After a few minutes of glancing back and forth, she took a deep breath and sighed. She turned her attention back to Ginny, her face in a frown.

"Well, we vowed no secrets" she shrugged.

"Yes, we did. But that doesn't mean we talk about it openly" she reminded the red-head. "What would you feel— if I talk about yours and Harry's behind-closed-door adventures?"

"Oh, don't start with me" she chuckled. "I'll even tell you the sweet details in it" Hermione sighed again. She still could not believe Ginny's boldness about this topic and it only made her wonder how they became friends instantly. Surely, this was common between best friends who treat each other like sisters, but private things should be kept private. She was no kiss and tell, she told herself that, but there was still this tempting thing to tell on Ginny. Sure, doing it with Ron was fun but she didn't know what did keep her doing it with him despite having major conflicts— pertaining to loyalty. Hermione pursed her lips, thinking deeply about those moments she had caught Ronald doing _activities _behind her back. There was enough evidence to break-up with the _arse_ who called himself a boyfriend, but she could not do it, she didn't know how or was it because she was afraid? Ron was her first in everything— _well not everything_. He was her best friend ever since middle school. He was her shoulder when all the shitty things happened to her and became her comforter. How could she throw those away? Hermione only shook her head, erasing all the doubts in her mind. She looked at Ginny, and then shook her head, obviously contemplating what to say next. She released a deep breath.

"Really—Ginny? Don't you ever wonder about the word privacy? What would Harry think about you spilling all your sexual endeavors to me?"

"Well… I bet those two have already talked about it, you know—since my brother and him are the best-of-friends" Ginny's eyes rolled at the thought of the two male creatures gossiping about every climax they had reached. Ginny shrugged, terribly disgusted at it. "You're right, I don't want those two gossiping about how we do while doing _that_"

Hermione grimaced, "Seriously? Those two—should be dubbed as gossip queens" Ginny gave a hearty laugh. Hermione just smirked at the new-found insult. If the two, indeed, were telling on each other she could only wonder how many times, she'd put out a fit towards Harry _and_ Ronald. "Those two should know better"

"You're right, Mione. I can picture how my darling's face looks when you tell him that you know. It'd be deathly pale _and_ cute" Hermione waved the motion away. The brunette walked to the coffee machine and brewed her wonderful blend of chocolate truffle coffee when she saw a familiar man walk in the shop.

"Now, shoo. If you don't want Dr. Albus to know more about what we're talking about and joke about it"

"You know he is not half-bad at those jokes. He's a master of it" Ginny smiled knowingly at Dr. Albus, who in turn smiled warmly at her as he sat down at the bar stool next to her.

"How are you Ginny, dear?" the man asked. Albus removed his hat and placed it neatly beside him. He brushed his mid length beard and went to adjusting his cuffs as he saw Hermione put out his favorite waffles in front of him.

"Quiet well, Professor. How's the college?" Hermione's eyes looked up from the cup she was blending when she heard the word escape Ginny's lips.

"The students as usual... are what you can say—rowdy. Ah, but all is well" He replied with a court nod before turning back to his meal. Ginny took it as a sign to leave the man be to enjoy his usual morning meal. Ginny turned to Hermione and mouthed what seemed to be 'We'll talk later' and winked. The _barista_ chuckled and shook her head at Ginny's persistent questioning and gossiping. She continued her work, stirring the coffee in a counter-clockwise motion to a clockwise motion. She placed the cream on top with the usual leafy image before serving it to the doctor-professor. The man only smiled at her and proceeded eating his meal. Hermione glanced at the shop clock and it read eight-thirty. She removed her apron and secured the remaining pastries she was working on in the display cage.

"Morning-shift over?" Ginny asked as she removed herself from her stool.

"Yea, classes today starts and ten. I still need to visit the library for the extra papers I'm working on" the girl explained. She folded her apron neatly and placed them under the cupboard. But before she left them, she took out the paper from her apron's pocket and placed it neatly on her wallet and then stuffed it back into its hiding place. She gave Ginny a short hug.

"Bloody girl, you really don't know how to rest don't you?" Ginny clasped Hermione at the back. Hermione could only smile.

"I'll be back by lunch" Hermione called out, and the door bell rang and fell silent the fourth time that morning.

* * *

The afternoon was worse, the rain hadn't stop when she walked— more likely ran, under the roof of a shop two blocks away from her work. It was that day that she decided to forget about her umbrella at the shop. Hermione rubbed her arms as she shivered, her skin deathly pale from the sudden outburst of the sky. She looked at her clothes at a shop window, she was drenched from head to toe, save for her knapsack which she desperately tried to protect. Her bushy brown hair was terribly wet and tangled and sticking hideously on her face. She brushed them away, combing her hair in the process. She sighed, her breath visible in the cold air of England.

She looked at the darkened sky, silently hoping that the strong rain and wind stopped for just a few minutes so that she could arrive at her work. With no such luck, she grunted.

"Well it's now or be late" she breathed in deep and left her spot in a sprint. Her bag jingled as her chime wove with the wind and fell on the cold wet pavement.

The fire-red umbrella was fairly visible in the dull grey color of the streets two blocks down her usual coffee shop. It was the afternoon break; rather, it was her end shift. She had been accounting the nearby jewelry shop's financials when the rain poured down heavily. She sighed, making a note to bring a pair of extra shoes the next time this happened. She did not bother getting her car because she was only in town. Her boss did not even mind that she went there from her home rather to go to their office just to check in and go back to her town. As she was packing her papers in her suitcase and as she placed her coat over her shivering shoulders she noticed a familiar figure glancing at the shops mirrored glass. The figure was checking her clothes for the damage— surely by the rain due to their wet look. She smiled as she deciphered who this image was. It was the _barista_ from Charles's Coffee shop down the street. Now, the accountant wondered why the girl was drenched, oh, that was fairly obvious now— _she left her umbrella._ She thought. _That girl would catch her death if she keeps that up. _She shook her head apparently disappointed by the lack of self-care.

She watched the girl as she sprinted away from under the shop's roof. The observer sighed.

"Are we good today, Ms. Delacour?" asked the shop owner.

She turned to the voice. In her front was a man in his late forties, dressed in the usual polo and tie—cuffs folded neatly by his elbows. "Yes, we are Mr. Digory. I'll be filing them tomorrow for you" the French woman smiled.

"I don't know how I'll manage without you, dear. You're so much better than that bloody bastard who called himself an accountant" he said shaking her hand. Ms. Delacour just smiled and patted him gently on his old wrinkly palms. She turned and grabbed her case; she glided towards the door as if she danced on her way out. Upon setting foot behind the closed doors, she opened her umbrella, taking in the rainy scenery just outside the jeweler's. The sky to her seemed really angry and sorrowful like something terrible happened or will happen. Nodding to herself, she inhaled the rainy scent of the England streets and stepped forward, completely leaving the shop's premises. But when she took a step, something crushed beneath her. The French raised her brow and stepped back. She was staring at what seemed to be a disproportioned wooden cat. It looked hideous if one took a quick glance at it but when she examined it more closely, it looked really cute and unique. Satisfied with her observation, she bent and picked up the forgotten trinket. She then wrapped it on her handkerchief and pocketed it. With an assuring nod, she headed on her way, her red umbrella weaving into the crowded street of Charles's Coffee Place.

* * *

The bell sounded with a hurried bang causing the costumers to look. A drench girl with bushy brown hair was standing there, her hair dripping rain water on the shop's welcome rug—shivering.

"Blimey, what happened to you?" Hermione looked up to Ginny who rushed over her with worry pasted on her face. Hermione wondered why the girl was fretting. She just got wet from the rain and the shop was warm so what was the big deal? Hermione's brows rose. She was fine, definitely fine— aside from on fact that she stuttered as a shiver went down her spine.

"W-what are you fretting about?" she stuttered her lips and jaws betraying her as it shook due to the cold the just went up her spine.

Ginny gave her friend an annoyed pointed look. It was so obvious and her friend—Hermione just denied them, face front. "You're deathly pale, Mione. You're lips are shading as well" she stated the fact, her eyes moving up then down whilst checking her friends outfit which was ruined. Ginny's head moved sideways, and started to remove her apron.

"W-what ar-re you d-doing?" her teeth chattered. She was startled by a cloth that covered her head. She glared at Ginny for the sudden action. Ginny shrugged her shoulders and motioned her finger to the employees lounging area. Hermione's eyes looked up questioningly and was about to ask when Ginny stomped her feet and pointed angrily at the door which read Employees Only. Hermione grumbled and started to walk behind the counter leaving wakes of mud and rain on the white tiles. Ginny could only shake her head.

"You know I only mopped" she eyed her friend. Hermione only shrugged at the gesture and continued heading to their lockers. She heard Ginny sigh heavily and what seemed to be a sloshing sound from the mop. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'll clean that later" called Hermione, reassuring her friend of less work load, as she disappeared to the employees' longue.

"Come out when you're done" Ginny replied. Hermione took one last look at her friend and the shop before she went into the white doors of the employee longue. She frowned when she saw the familiar face in the crowded shop with a revolting red color at its wake. Hermione's feet shuffled hurriedly and dressed away. She could not believe the nerve of that person. Why was he there after she clearly told him not to show his face for at least a couple of days? She shook her head, in frustration. She let her locker bang loudly at the quiet lounge and left.

A scowl was very visible in her features when she met the person face-to-face. Her feet tapped irritatingly at the floor as she waited for the other person to speak up. _Nothing. _She waited for a few more seconds and still there was nothing coming out from the boy's face, aside from the syrup that dripped on the corner of his mouth. So, Hermione decided to break the silence.

"What do you want?" her voice sliced the tensed air.

"I'm a customer here," he pointed to the half eaten pastry and gulped the food he was munching "it's not like I violated what we talked about" the boy looked up, grinning like an idiot as if he had won the lottery. Hermione's scowl deepened. Obviously, she was terribly irritated at his sudden appearance. Why was she irritated? Oh, yes, it was because that this douche decided to jump on a decision involving her. When she went back to her apartment earlier that day, there was Ronald, _inside_ her home and was eating snacks from her fully stocked refrigerator while only wearing boxers—childishly enough it had batman's symbols all over it— as if he lived there. That shocked Hermione, really surprised her that the only thing she could do was glower at guy's foolishness and stupidity and screamed at him to get out and not show his face to her while getting her things and slamming the door shut right in front of his face.

"This is clearly a violation of what I told you not to do, _Ronald_" she said, emphasizing every word as if it meant everything, well it did mean everything. Ronald only gave her a blank questioned look as if this was not a big deal.

"What? You avoided my question on moving in together, I need an answer you know. My mom already kicked me out since I told her I'd be living with you and I need a place to stay. So I thought why not live together? So that we'd be free to have sex, you know win-win" he shrugged. He took another bite at his waiting waffles, wolfing them down as if there was no tomorrow. Hermione felt her cheeks twitch at the _etiquette-lessness _of her boyfriend.

Hermione closed her eyes and rubbed at her temples angrily soothing the crease that was beginning to form. "You do understand that you'd just be living under my roof? _And _for free"

"Yea, what's wrong with that? I practically live there already, got tons of my things there, you know" He chewed on his Belgian Waffle and took a sip of his cold coffee blend. Hermione just watched, her eyes twitching at the very fact that the boy before her had been or is currently dense to the ordeal. She was not ready to live with a guy even if that guy was her boyfriend _and _best friend. She did not even have the time to consult her parents on this decision. How would they react if they saw Ronald there in one of their surprise visit? Hermione knew her parents didn't pay for her apartment just to have a _free-loading _border living there, and a male creature for one fact. It was already difficult to not spill she was not a virgin anymore. Hermione felt horrible. She felt horrible lying face front to her parents.

"Everything. Just everything." The barista, exasperated, said with a fling of her hands sideward. "Why don't you go live with Harry?"

"No can do, his house if full pack with his college mates. Come one, babe. Don't you see the picture of us in one roof? It'd be tons of fun" the boy clutched her by the waist, apparently charming Hermione to say yes as he wiggled his eyebrows at her. Hermione sighed, how she could resist the person who is in need, even if the person was such a douche. The thought of having fun crept into her as well and maybe she could keep that as a secret as well from her parents. She could pull this off, she told herself. So, the barista nodded slightly.

"Alright" With that, Ronald stood up and leaned giving her a wet peck on her lips and left the shop, a few cents short on his bill. The door quietly banged shut. Hermione looked up to the closed doors still a bright red color weaving behind them, she waited for the person— whom she thought was Ron to leave, but soon the doors opened, and in went the lady with blonde hair, closing her red umbrella and securely placing it at the rack by the door.

Hermione felt her breath hitched at the sight of the lady, she couldn't help noticing the reddish tint that crossed the woman's cheeks to her nose then back to her other cheek. She looked down at the table, quickly deriving her attention away. She felt her hand tremble, nervous? She did not know. When Hermione was contemplating on the feeling she had experienced she did not see the shadow looming behind her. She only noticed it when a cough reverberated in the shop, her head flicked in an upwards motion and did not expect to be faced with what she was avoiding. Piercing blue eyes met her warm brown ones. The first thing she had noted was the light make up enveloping the eyes of the French, elegantly placing a mature yet alluring look on the woman's face. The reddish tint she saw earlier was still there on the pale cheeks—which were obviously from the cold weather, Hermione concluded. She—Hermione also noticed the elongated eye lashes, that touched ever so slowly to its counterpart, both barely visible because of its golden nature. And lastly, she watched the slightly puffed lips, colored in a soft pink lipstick which she thought smelled faintly of cherry—move.

"Bonjour? Is this seat taken?" the French accent wafted into her ears. And Hermione was mesmerized by both beauty and smoothness of the voice. "'ello?" she asked again. Hermione felt a tap on her shoulders and felt a shivering tingle when it landed softly on her uniform. She could not respond. She didn't know why it was possible. But she just stood there, clenching the already forgotten payment.

Ginny noticed this and hurriedly went over to the baffled barista and nudged her lightly before addressing the costumer. "It's free. Would you like your usual, ma'am?" Ginny asked. The French only shook her head

"I'll have today's special blend, no?" Ginny smiled.

"I'd be served in a few minutes" The lady only nodded and waited for the two attendants to move away from the booth. The lady slipped elegantly in the booth and placed her coat beside her; she then took out her laptop and began shuffling paper works on her table. She looked up once more, a crease in between her brows emerged.

"Is something wrong?" her thick French accented her English. The blonde gave another gesture, this time it was her brown raised in a questioningly manner, her eyes switching from Ginny to Hermione's figure. Ginny took note of it and grabbed her companion by the arm and led her away. When they had steered clear from the vision and back to the shop, Ginny pushed Hermione a little bit harder just to get the woman's attention, but with no such like she resorted to waving a hand frantically in front of her friend—who only was dazed.

"Hermione?" Ginny called out. "Hermiooonee?" she waved a hand in front of her friend again. She sighed at the lost cause. Hermione slowly turned to Ginny only to feel the inevitable blush running across her face. Now, she felt dumbfounded by this new discovery. She did not know how it was possible but the closeness she experienced at that very moment started to make something move and unknowingly changed everything she knew all too well. Hermione for the first time was speechless. So speechless that she even forgot the house's original blend that day.

* * *

…_continued on the next installment. [Review please!]_


	2. 2: An idea on what it smells like

**2: An idea on what it smells like**

A/N: Wow, this story got pretty decent reviews and a lot of Ron haters. I know you guys got turned off by the idea but he plays a great role in this story, I'm wishing you'll love this conflict thus making the fleurmione sweetness better and worthwhile. I'm taking this slowly, character build-up and all. Please be patient with me and drop lots of comments and tell me what you think. Okay? Alright then! Let's continue now~

Toffee Luck

If it was just a normal pelting of the rain on the window she can forgive it, but sadly as she looked at the wide shop's clear glass, her frown worsen, terribly. The morning usually started great—well, she wanted it to start great, wonderful and alive or whatever else you can call 'good' about it. She shook her head disapprovingly and turned her head back to her morning paper. It was supposed to be great not until her alarm decided to chime on a very early hour, thus making her sleep-in again and wake-up late only to rush her leisure morning to get to work on time. _That_ she could get over; but what really made today awful was the lack of her usual morning coffee in her usual coffee shop two blocks down her town house. She can't believe that it affected her that much, sure it was just coffee, she can deal with that, heck, she can drink coffee at her office may it be latte or espresso of any flavor she desire, she could get it with one word and her secretary would go in a jiffy to retrieve the confection. But what really bothered her was the she feeling of being _off, _was it because she didn't get the coffee from Charles's or was it because she did not have a chance to watch a certain waitress? She wondered.

_Tap._

Her head rose towards the sound, she scowled heavily as she looked at the man—who obviously didn't know the word quiet and respect— persistently knocking on the glass window beside her in a bakery one street from her office. The French shook her head disapprovingly and shooed away the man, who was obviously begging for food, sad as it was, and turned her gaze back at her morning paper—a cup of black coffee in hand. She sighed, "_Mon dieu_" she muttered as she heard another sickening tick at the shop's window and a loud shout of 'French Bread' from the buyers that crowded the shop that early morning. Her brows knitted immensely, maybe even twitched madly, and then she banged her paper down the table. _That. Was. It._ She stood up—begrudgingly, grabbed her morning paper, fished out her wallet, took two bills of crisp pound, left it there by her unfinished coffee and went out the door, quick as she could. The shop's door banged rather loudly but not too loud to startle the other costumers. She slipped out there as if she never even step foot inside and the day in that bakery continued on as any other day.

Her heels ticked rapidly and heavily on the pavement, she didn't know she was doing it until she released a heavy breath when she reached her car. She thought back to the place; the building, consisting of one expanse floor, stood at a corner of the busiest street in the area, its doors and frames were warm brown colors, white marble tiles laid in the usual normal and clean pattern on the floor and a quaint statue design of a dog carrying a basket of bread stood just by the entrance. It looked cozy from the outside and the bread's aroma that wafted outside the small chimney smelled wonderfully— she had to admit she actually liked the smell of freshly made croissants. So, no, it was not the place that irked her—maybe she would even love it because the croissants were spectacularly delicious like it was made from home. It was about the people who went about their business there. She, apparently, wasn't that keen about crowds. Okay, maybe she could forgive the crowd, she thought inwardly, despite harsh manners and all; she could just blame it to the continuous unpleasant happenings around the area. She rolled her eyes at the thought. She fished out her car keys and pressed the 'unlock' button and her car chimed a soft beep. She went in, dropping her bag and coat on the passenger side in the process until she drove away into the buzzing city streets of London.

Her mind never did wander off away from the morning happenings. She would've trusted her instincts that day and never left home. If the clock hadn't scrambled up in the first place and woke her too early for her liking, she might have erased the thought that all _this_ will not happen. But no, she continued on with her day, grumbling. She wondered now, if she may even get her coffee at Charles, since she was on her break, but when her business phone rang the very classy tune and her boss's voice came up from the other line, she quickly decided against it and drove to her office. Upon arriving at her office, she was met—well rather bombarded— by three seemingly persuasive men, _if you can even call them men_, she thought; her lips suddenly thinned. Those men, elderly in one side, were bachelors who seemed to have taken a very enthusiastic liking to her. She was beautiful, apparently, everyone think so, but she could not believe or tell it to herself. She did not find herself amazingly drop-dead gorgeous, she was just, her. _Plain me_. Although, she was very classy and she liked dressing-up even on a normal day, but that was it. She even wondered how she managed to get attention that morning when she didn't even apply the usual amount of make-up in her face and only managed to put a decent eyeliner and eye shadow to hide her stressed eyes. She could only laugh it off, how men drool over her, waving the thought away from her occupied mind and wove through the unanswered dates with a slight chuckle and a polite but firm 'No'.

"'ello, Fleur." Fleur stopped at her tracks as the voice came into earshot. She turned to her right, apparently meeting a dashing young man with fiery red locks. He waved a brown folder and smiled. "You… seem a bit dreary?" Fleur only raised a brow. A cough reverberated from his chest as he looked away for a moment or so. The man sighed but looked up again with the same jolly face he presented her a while ago.

"It seems the _boss _wanted more from you today" the man continued as he walked towards the woman named Fleur. Fleur looked at him, perplexed by the statement he just spoke.

"What do you mean?" Her accent slightly heavy on her English, barely, she managed to not damage the pronunciation of the letter 'H' and 'W'. The man, only smiled and gave her shoulders a light pat, then the smile grew wider and turned into a grin.

"You actually sound a lot better than you first came here… Even your writing is superb" he said. He then presented the brown folder to her. Fleur looked at him, her brows raised and her eyes lingering at his gaze in hopes to find a clue on what is it. "I was just lightening up" Fleur grimaced and only made her companion laugh. Ignoring the failing hilarious antics, her slender fingers grasped the folder. She opened it and let her eyes skim at the contents. She looked up to her companion with a questioned look.

"They are only numbers," she flatly said.

He chuckled. Fleur could not get what was funny but decided not to comment about it. "The _boss _wanted you to take these shops under your wing Fleur" he gestured to the paper before her.

She skimmed the papers again, flipping elegantly at the pages. Her eyes stopped at a familiar word or rather name. She eyed her companion then sighed. "These…shops? I thought the_ boss _already have them booked to another accountant?"

"Well yes, he did but the guy got sick, pretty bad" The man shrugged, his actions seemingly portraying a man who was on his death-bed. Fleur chuckled at the extremities of his acting and rolled her eyes, exasperated.

"That bad?" she emphasized. The red-head only chuckled, his shoulders shaking in delight before he shook his head sideways. "No, not really, but since everyone else is pretty busy and you're still on 'probationary'" he quoted "… period and haven't gotten that load of work yet… you got the job"

Fleur nodded understanding the responsibilities presented to her. "Thank you for this, William" William only raised a brow and Fleur bobbed her head and looked sideways noticing the amount of people in the room, she sighed then smiled "I meant _boss_" she looked up and winked and the man could only laugh heartily.

"You start with them on Monday" he smiled and went off to the other side of the office. Fleur on the other hand went the other direction and into the familiar door and desk that held her name. She sat on her chair, moved some pile of finished paper work and dropped the folder on top. She mused and bit her lip; she slowly opened the paper's confinements and read the first word or name. She smiled.

* * *

The clatter of plates resounded in the small coffee shop of Charles's. The aroma of the coffee and tea mixed heavenly as the costumers quietly munch on their personal meal. No one seemed bothered by the lack of one usual costumer and continued on their relaxing afternoon, well, except for one. The bell chimed and her head whipped faster than a bullet to see who just went in. She sighed heavily, dismayed by the old man who entered. She went back—though with a heavy mood—to her pastries. Her hands squeezed the creamer tightly almost ruining the pastry by the extensiveness of the confectionery sugar. Her friend only looked at her, her head shaking with utter disapproval. Ginny walked towards the counter, an empty tray at hand. She set down the metal object quietly and sat before her friend.

"You're awfully enthusiastic about that bread" said she.

The girl looked up to Ginny, her brown eyes obviously looking confused by the statement. Ginny only pointed to the bread before her and chuckled. Hermione looked down at the pooling brown syrup and quickly stopped her hand from pressing the bottle. She sighed and set down the bottle on its proper place and wiped her hands.

"I- Why didn't you tell me I was spilling it?"

"You were looking at it, why would I point it out?" Ginny shot back. Hermione only grumbled in return. Ginny released a slight heavy breath before leaning in closer to the counter. "What's up?"

Hermione only looked at her, perplexed by the notion. She shook her head and turned around, grabbing the ruined plate and setting it to the other side.

"You're ignoring me again~" her friend sang. The squeak of the chair resounded softly as her friend played around, swinging her legs like a child. Hermione closed her eyes, her lip thinned at the irksome sound. She willed her ears to block the noise, but it just continued, seemingly getting louder that what it was. Hermione shot an irritated look at her friend and the recipient only shrugged.

"I'm not ignoring you okay? I'm busy making the pastries for display" she motioned to the empty pastry trays.

It was Ginny's turn to raise a perplexed brow. "Really now?" she muttered.

"Yes" Hermione firmly stated. Ginny looked at the window, she watched the mass of people walk along the moist side streets just by their shop. Then her eyes wondered to the shop's clock. She watched the minute hand slowly ticking, and landing perfectly at the north. Her lips moved upwards. She knew why but her friend was not telling. She looked at Hermione again; apparently, the grin on her face did not go unnoticed by her frustrated companion.

Hermione wiped her hand on a white towel, before letting it fall on her hips. Her hands crossed as she leaned back on the other metal table stationed across the marble-wood counter Ginny was leaning on. She eyed Ginny, intensely "Why are you looking so smug?"

"She didn't come in today" the red-head simply stated.

Hermione was taken aback at the simple statement. She watched Ginny closely; her friend looked pretty sure about it. She had to admit that the girl did have a point, but, she—herself— did not know it was the real case that made her really off that hour. Hermione Granger wondered about when she started showing simple ministrations—that she did not even know she was doing— which lead to her friend drawing that conclusion.

"What if she didn't? People do have other business… you know."

Ginny smiled and grabbed the coffee pitcher beside her; she took a cup as well and poured one for herself. She smelled the coffee and sipped the contents, humming at the delightful flavor that danced in her tongue. She watched Hermione Granger, who in return watched her, seemingly waiting for what she might say next. Ginny sighed and let the cup down softly on the counter. A soft bell chime sounded and Hermione's head shot to that direction. Ginny smirked at the action. Hermione scowled at her—obviously very irked.

"You've been keeping tabs on the costumers who went in, just like that"

"I always do that"

"No, you don't…"Ginny paused then hummed a short 'hmm'. "Just today" then she added

Her scowl only deepened. Her eyes darted to the clock, she observed it for a minute or two before turning her attention back to her waiting friend "I'm going"

"Already?" Ginny's eyes widened as she glanced at the shop's clock which read twenty minutes before Hermione's supposed time out—which is two thirty. Hermione only nodded and placed her apron on the counter drawer beside the coffee machine. She grabbed her bag and went out the door. The door closed with a chime.

Hermione watched her feet as she walked along the grey pavements of her neighborhood's quiet streets. She released another heavy breath, which she did not know she held. She knew Ginny, was actually, for the first time—_no, not really the first, but for a couple of times now_—was right. She wanted to see that French woman who actually ordered her original coffee blend, every day. She was pretty happy when someone ordered them and truly came back for it. Sure, there were a lot of costumers who seemed to like her blends but this woman was in fact the first one who complimented her greatly about it. She wondered back to the time when she first served it to the French. She remembered the dim lights of the shop as she opened them and turned the sign from 'closed' to 'open'. She knew it was going to be the same as every other day, Professor Albus Dumbledore will come in and sit at the counter side and chat with her while he eat his meal, with the usual chocolate-truffles coffee—which she made the original recipe for. It was timed, when he went in, it was around seven in the morning, and she took note of it. She remembered preparing the meal and coffee when the door chimed at exactly seven in the morning, she was about to serve it to him because she knew he will be walking towards the counter and will be fixing his cuffs. She was surprised when she turned around that day. Her brown pools met cold icy blue ones.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else" Hermione said as she withdrew the plate before the woman but completely forgot about her chocolate-truffle blend.

"It is alright" Hermione took note of the heavy French accent, but did not bother about it more. She watched the woman as she pressed her lips together, a thinking face—Hermione thought. She observed the woman who was looking at the cup before her; Hermione could only blush in embarrassment and started to grab hold of the forgotten drink. A hand shot towards the glass, covering her hands, stopping them from actually taking it away.

"If…it is alright, may I take this?" she said with a soft smile. "It smells wonderful and I was wondering what it is called?" she motioned to the cup.

Hermione's face flushed red, she looked down at her hand, feeling the hot steam of the coffee and the cold slender fingers a top it. It was rather weird, the feeling, but she inwardly admitted liking it "Um…" she started to stutter. She shook her head, telling herself to get over her musings and actually answer the question addressed to her. "It's Chocolate-Truffle Coffee"

The French nodded and looked at the coffee's list. Her brows met at the center, obviously confused by the pamphlet she was holding, her eyes glanced back and forth, seeming to locate the word. She raised a brow addressing the woman before her. Hermione read the expression and she felt there was going to be a question for her. Her heart started to beat madly, nervous perhaps? She gulped. She felt her hand get cold and sweat trickled on her neck. She decided to answer ahead.

"I-its… my original blend. It's not really on the menu, the owner hasn't… quite, really made it a regular, you know, since costumers usually like black blends _without_ nuts or mallows" she nervously chuckled. The French nodded and released her hand. Hermione took it as a chance to retrieve it— the mug. "I… I'll give you one of the shop's best recipes? I'll just take thi-" The teenage shopkeeper—Hermione— watched as a hand raised before her, which made her to abruptly stop her actions.

"_Non_, it is not necessary, I… would like to try this, new flavor" her eyes motioned again towards the mug.

Hermione suddenly stopped when the words left the lady's mouth. She would like to try something new? She, this new face who happened to stumble into this certain coffee shop wanted to try her original blend? Wow, that's something you don't experience every day. She took the moment to study the woman. Questions echoed in her mind. _What was she playing at? Why would she want a blend she didn't know what it consisted? Would I even allow her to take it?_ Hermione's thoughts ran wild. Hermione Granger was indeed nervous to be critiqued for its taste, let alone be blamed by the weird texture it offered; she could not let another person aside from Albus to taste it. _Yes…only for the professor… _but then again, someone asked for it. Her shopkeeper's instincts well rather code, would always favor the costumer, what they want and what they need. And in this case, someone—still pertaining to the French Lady before her—wanted the blend she was holding on.

Now, Hermione remembered something similar, when Albus asked her something different from the coffee from the shops menu, it actually baffled her, but eventually she agreed to make something special for the old man—because he _is_ Albus and the professor is a _very_ regular costumer. They had a pretty open-mind and fun relationship, Albus always urge her to try something new and this man was willing to be her test subject for the sweet mysterious confectionery blends. She liked it; she felt that her talent in mixing or making food was appreciated. This soon evolved into something; she and Albus made this thing very special, like having a granddad and granddaughter time. So, was she going to give this lady the pleasure of it –tasting a very nutty chocolate-coffee blend? An opportunity to make a fool out of herself? Or something that may even sour the mood of this very unusual costumer? Or would she let herself see how her efforts in month long coffee blending will play out?

She closed her eyes and inhaled.

Hermione, for the first time, took the risk. She set the cup down before the lady and also retrieved a Belgian Waffle topped with whipped cream and cherry on a tray. She, although hesitating, let down the plate and a silver fork. The woman patted her hands, lingering for a few moments. Hermione watched closely as the French gave her hand a small stroke that sent shivers to her spine. She wondered what it was. She wanted to know _what_ it was because she was dumbfounded by the sensation of it. She wanted to ask about it by she decided against it and quickly withdrew her hands, startled by the crippling motion. She stopped for a few moments to study her new costumer only to catch a slight mischief and curiosity in the eyes of pooling blue.

The French smiled and uttered the most mind-wrecking tone, a tune so sweet that haunted her from that day on—that small 'thanks' in a language she never really did understand—made her heart flutter in delight on one misty morning. "_Merci beaucoup_"

The lingering words stated in French nestled in Hermione's memories though the echoes of it faded when she was startled by a loud honk. Hermione jumped back the side walk, gripping her heart in hopes of steadying its beat. She glared angrily at the black car, which looked really classy—Hermione thought before stomping her foot in a frustrated action. The car however did not move away and continued to block the way.

"What's his bloody problem?" she muttered. She tapped her foot angrily, waiting for the bastard to move from the thin pedestrian lane. Still there was no attempt to move. The teenager got impatient with waiting and begrudgingly moved to the rear end of the car to cross but before she even had the chance to actually walk far from the car, the window slid down.

"You're really are aloof at times, _cherie_" Hermione stopped, the French accent wafted into the cold afternoon breeze. She turned her head, slowly as if she was afraid of being delusional or crazy about hearing things. It did not fail her, though. A beaming smile was pasted on her pretty face, her blonde hair were barely contained by her brown driving sun glasses. She wore what she usually wore when Hermione knew the woman was working on the weekdays. She was there in the car before her, that French Lady who she always waited for and did not even dare to admit it—until now.

"Y-you?" she stuttered.

Her eyes twinkled in amusement and then chuckled, she shook her head playfully before answering a very obvious question "Yes, me" the silence crept in and both took in the situation at hand. Hermione felt numb, her feet did not move an inch, and she did not know what or how to react aside from her stuttering earlier.

"I'm terribly sorry, _cherie_, for the rude honk, but you were going to get yourself killed" her head moved to the direction of the traffic light and her hand pointed slightly towards it. By the motion, Hermione took this as a sign to look at the traffic post, and indeed the green was on for the cars. She gulped the saliva that was building in her mouth and suddenly felt her throat dry. "I… um. Thank you for the warning"

The lady bobbed her head acknowledging the apology. Hermione started to slowly move away, head bobbed low, obviously hiding the blushing conquering her cheeks due to complete and utter embarrassment from her lack of awareness. She felt stupid at the moment, she felt tiny at the gaze of the woman. She wasn't like this, a clumsy person, someone who often did mistakes. She was precise, she was orderly and she was the opposite of a person who lack awareness. She wasn't one of those dimwitted people who often take adventure at its spontaneity, she was Hermione, the daughter of very prestigious dentist who were very strict in their practice and way of life. She was the person who lived life the opposite of impulsiveness, she knew all the answers to every question school may offer but one thing she did know and did not want to admit that she did not have an answer to things she was experiencing now. Every since that misty morning she met her—she was not prepared for it.

"Where are you heading?" the voice sliced through the silenced air. Hermione stopped walking and turned around to acknowledge the question. She stared at her for a moment, coughed through her dry throat then fumbled the length of her knapsack's strap.

"I was going to head to the grocery down the street then head home" softly she said.

"Hmmm…" she hummed. "If you like, I would like accompany you… I'm headed there as well, you see" she said, Hermione just stared. The French laughed. "I won't kidnap you or anything if that's what you think. I'm perfectly harmless"

"Harmless, indeed. My parents did say that I should not talk to strangers. I don't even know your name" Hermione replied in a rather playful tone. The lady sheepishly smiled that turned into a light gleeful chuckle.

"I'm Fleur. Fleur Delacour" she held a pale slender hand out the open window. Hermione hesitated for a few moments before reaching out. She felt the familiar cold slim fingers that held her hand—unwillingly, she added— the day they actually first met. It was sensational and Hermione knew it was something she wanted to feel yet again. She felt for it, humming to herself, feeling very delighted meeting the same warmth again from her. Now she wondered if it was the same for her. _Of course not, this is just friendly as it should be. _She scolded herself for thinking about that and pushed the thought completely away.

Fleur had smiled at the touch, gazing at the claps hand intently before looking up with gleeful eyes meeting the warm brown ones of the shopkeeper.

"Hermione Granger" her tiny voice said. Fleur chuckled, her eyes twinkling at the same time but went unnoticed by the teenager. She sighed lightly, feeling content at the moment.

"I know"

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"What I meant was, I saw it in your tag… at the shop… when you are working, _non_?" there was a pause. Fleur pursed her lips, waiting for a reaction. When there was none, she continued. "Let us go?" Hermione blinked, her head suddenly turned to face Fleur's waiting expression.

"Oh right" Fleur was relieved from further interrogation. She motioned for Hermione to ride the other side. The girl slightly nods and walked to the said side and with a soft thud from the door, they drove off.

* * *

_... continued on the next installment [Review]_


	3. 3: An idea on what it feels like

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

_A/N: Yes, yes, late updates and all. I've been busy these past few weeks or was it a month already, can't keep track of time, hehe, but yea, I'm back with a new chapter/s. And for some reason I can't access my fanfic account these last few days. Anyway, since it's fixed now, I shall be uploading my work. Enjoy and thank you for the new readers, comments, faves and all those other things, love ya'll! Reviews won't hurt you guys so please drop some too on your way down! Forgive me for some typographical and grammar errors for I can do only so much proof reading. I'm in dire need of a beta too, if anyone is interested please pm me:D_

* * *

**Toffee Luck**

Her head propped down on the table was not a sign she had given up on the world, no, it really wasn't. It was just her, minding her own business—well… not actually her own but one certain blonde's business who was walking around her apartment. Yes, a French blonde was in her home. If the three-inch cream colored stiletto parked by her doorway were not a dead giveaway or the missing blue fluffy house slipper which was usually parked on a shoe rack by her door or may be even the set of brown paper bags settled on the counter table she was leaning on, well, she did not know what was the most obvious one enough. Why was she asking herself… if this was all true? Well one thing is for sure it was just good to be true. She released a heavy breath and groaned into the marble top counter of her small abode. She inhaled the smell of paper that was right beside her before muttering the words "she really is here". Hermione closed her eyes and started contemplating on the situation at hand.

Hermione thought about what occurred to her sick mind to invite the blonde over after their small shopping escapade at the grocery; just a few blocks away from her small apartment. _So...why?_ She asked herself once more. Hermione closed her eyes tightly and seemingly, yet not intentionally, banged her head on the table—_which was not a good idea—_ she had thought after the incident occurred.

"Ouch" she muttered. She raised her head and rubbed the sore spot irritatingly until she was actually running her hand— frustrated on her hair. She was itching to do something yet she did not know what to do. She was nervous about having this blonde over, musing with thoughts like if her house was a mess, or what should she serve the blonde, will she need to make dinner, or if the blonde find it rude to stay over a stranger's home, or if she finds something or someone she isn't supposed to find or even look at, in short, she was nervous about a lot of things at the moment. She did not know why though, but, she felt something really terrible at the pit of her stomach.

Hermione watched the blonde who was casually looking at the photos that were lined neatly by a small desk in the living room—in her living room. She watched as slender hands grasp what seemed to be a photo of when she was little and then continued on gazing until the woman let it down gently with a soft, 'tack'. Then she wondered still, eyeing the same slender fingers that brush elegantly on the table before turning away after finding something else of difference. Hermione was indeed mesmerized. She sighed dreamily, which she did not want to admit doing. She suddenly turned away as realization dawned on her. She was sighing dreamily? _Where the bloody hell did that come from?_ Hermione groaned.

She stood up from her counter stool and began unpacking the grocery bags that were bought over twenty minutes ago. She placed them accordingly in her pantry and refrigerator. Nodding, now satisfied by her quick organizing, she returned to her previous place and began retracing the events that occurred earlier that day.

When Hermione sat fidgety in the car, she was contemplating if being alone with a complete stranger was actually safe—_even if she introduced herself_ thought Hermione. Hermione glanced at the woman, whose eyes were intently looking at the road, driving with one hand on the wheel and the other rested on her lap. She watched as the slender fingers of Fleur tumbled on the cloth of her own skirt, drumming along the faint music on the radio. She had to admit, the music was catchy even though they were sung in French. She hummed to herself, satisfied in the silence bestowed inside the car. Hermione, now, turned her head intent on watching the zooming apartments as they pass by the crowded streets to avoid further—um, distractions. Though her eyes were occupied, she let her other senses feel around the woman who was right beside her. Hermione noted the soft humming from the woman; she smiled at the ministrations and continued on silently listening— yet unknown by the French. Now, it leads her to wonder if Fleur could actually sing. She heard the female humming and concluded that it was rather nice, but she knew it wasn't a ground to decide if one was an actually good singer. She let her brows creased for a few moments. Little did Hermione know, she was being watched, a snippet of looks were thrown at her a little bit worried in nature.

"Cherie, you keep frowning, don't you like the music?" Hermione turned to meet Fleur who addressed a rather important question. She blinks, a bit confused on what was happening for she knew she had not paid attention to the question stated. So, Hermione just kept silent. Fleur took a glance at the road and then turned back to Hermione as she stopped when the light went red.

"I could turn it off for you" she told the coffee brewer. Hermione, understanding bestowed upon her; just shook her head and then shyly turned away. She kept her eyes yet again occupied, finding the hem of her shirt interesting for a second or two.

"No, it's fine. I-It's actually nice." She quietly replied. Fleur smiled and nodded before turning her attention back at the road and actually sung along the music played, though quietly. Hermione felt happy and detached all noise except for Fleur's soft voice.

Hermione felt her cheeks flare up as she remembered the short car incident. It was very normal, if she just looked at it plainly, yet she felt suffocated by the emotions she just felt there just with a short look and a kind voice—singing voice in one fact— from the blonde. She groaned yet again and laid her head once more on the cold marble top; playing the soft melody of the French's song in her head, over and over again.

She closed her eyes, again, accompanied by a soft sigh for the nth time that day. She was utterly not herself. She felt weird, she felt really weird. "What's wrong with me?" She knows something was stirring inside of her when she was with Fleur. Was this because she admires the blonde's beauty and because of Ginny's constant teasing? _That must be it. I like Fleur's kind face and nature._ Or was it the mystery that envelope's Fleur persona? Hermione— and she knew it— felt drawn to intriguing things and interesting personas. She was a girl who wanted to analyze and crack open a person's nature. She was so entranced by a foreigner—which was unluckily Fleur—that she wanted to actually know everything about her. She was fascinated by how this lady cope-up in this British society in just a week. She felt amazed by it, like a story of founding oneself in a big haystack or something. She wondered about the reason why Fleur was here in London, she was curious about Fleur's work as well. She had developed this habit of finding facts about people just by looking at them, keeping keen details on daily ministrations, because watching people every day at the shop gave her interesting facts like how Missus McGonagall had twelve cats in her house and was constantly looking for a way to get more, or about Mister Flitch who was always in a bad mood because he couldn't get rid of his wife—she liked discovering new things and this gave her an idea on how to serve costumers well. It was even a way for her to know what kind of blend these people would like, if a person like Mister Filtch wanted his coffee sweet as an apple or if Missus McGonagall preferred a lot of milk in her tea. She knew it all just by small interactions with these people. She was happy by her work and was just happy to make their—her costumer's— day worthwhile.

Now, when Fleur came, she was having a hard time describing Fleur. She had and is still having a hard time deciphering what Fleur was actually like. She even wondered about what Fleur thinks about her own neighborhood or how she was managing interacting with the people in it who find it hard to understand her English due to her heavy accent, or if, if people were nice to her or if people were stupefied by her beauty just like her. It was a lot of questions and she wanted to ask but kept it to herself.

"Is something the matter?" Fleur's voice cut through her reverie, Hermione suddenly shot up from her heads-down position and accidently bumped her head to Fleur's. Fleur stumbled backward, actually falling to the wooden floor by tripping on her clumsy foot.

"Ouch" the teenager hissed,

"I'm sorry" Fleur quickly as if it was a second nature, said. She grabbed her head, seemingly in pain.

Hermione, as well clutched her sore head, letting the irritating pounding stop. This went on for a few moments until she realized Fleur was hurt as well and when she reached out, she noticed the laughing. "Are you alright? I'm terribly sorry" Hermione jumped down her stool and kneeled beside Fleur.

"Non, non, I am fine" she chuckled softly. "I gave you quite a scare, if I got knocked down I suppose" she said. "I am sorry"

Hermione looked perplexed by the casualty of it all. Surely if someone was pushed down by that they'd get angry or upset, but Fleur, she was still bubbly about the ordeal. She even said sorry first rather than Hermione. Hermione sighed and reached to Fleur muttering a short apology in that short sweep. Fleur only touched Hermione gently by the cheek and expressed her appreciation with a small smile on her face. The kettle whizzed out its tune, signifying that it was at boiling point, screaming that it was freakishly hot and someone turn the fire off. Hermione's head snapped to the direction and quickly turned off the heat and carried the pot of water away from the stove.

"I'll just set the coffee, if you like, you can watch television. I'll call you when it's done" she told her blonde guest. Fleur watched the girl, smiling and instead of sitting in front of the television, she perched herself on a stool facing Hermione. She folded her hands on top of the table and rested her chin on them, seemingly enjoying watching the barista doing her job. Now, Fleur was a very observant person, she was very keen to details since her work requires lots of attention and precision. She had to admit this, watching this teenager diligently working on coffee was quite entertaining, interesting, in fact! She loved every bit of it. She loved the way the girl would stir the coffee in an even counter-clockwise and the clockwise motion, how softly she taps the stirrer on the side of the glass for it not to spray unnecessary dirt on the counter. She liked how her eyes of deep browns intently looked at the coffee as if contemplating or might even been conversing with the coffee if it was bitter or too sweet. How the crease in the brow ever so often manage to invade her young facial features. Fleur did not know it but she was inevitably falling to these simple antics. Fleur released a satisfied breath. She was content on the view and she knew that no television show makes her this occupied and relaxed. She inhaled deeply smelling the aroma of the coffee being stirred in front of her; she then closed her eyes for further sensations to explode to her. She loved it!

She hummed. "That smells nice"

Hermione looked up from her stirring with a surprised expression flashed on her face but as soon as it was on her it was gone. She had definitely told her guest to keep occupied in the living room and watch television. She was quite startled by the revelations she was faced that the blonde was sitting before her, eyes closed and lips pursed into a thoughtful smile. A few moments later blue eyes were revealed.

Hermione just stared.

It was the only thing she wanted to do at the moment, these blue eyes were calling her, and she wanted them the most. She studied them contemplating on the emotions that she barely understood through them. Hermione inwardly scolded herself and looked away, a flush of pink on her cheeks, and continued her stirring. She and Fleur were both enveloped in a silence they cannot describe as comforting. It was a mix of anxiety, embarrassment and curiosity, Hermione had noted, or she only had noted for her behavior. She was nervous, embarrassed and curious all at the same time. She was curious of Fleur yet so embarrassed by her ministrations due to nervousness, for she knew they were clumsy at every possible point. How could she be so, ugh, such a klutz? She told herself. And with her telling herself that, the spoon she held slipped from her grasp and clattered on the counter top. Fleur's attention was caught yet again. Hermione darted for the spoon, but as she had, Fleur also. Their fingers touched ever so. In this time, Hermione once more felt hot friction, electricity jolting through her fingertips. Her face also produced that inevitable blush. She quickly withdrew her other hand to cover her face as she started to look away. Yet, what about her other hand? She did not even dare move it in hopes that Fleur was the one to do so. Wish granted.

Fleur slowly let her hands dropped, with that Hermione's expression fell at the lost of contact, she suddenly felt cold. Fleur's hands gave her warmth that one she had to say, she wanted those slender hands on her skin again, but, Hermione berated herself, who in the right mind would want someone close, intimately on the other side, to touch her? But still would this be okay? She asked herself.

Fleur could tell something was bothering her new found friend; the_ Barista _was a bubbly person and this fallen expression was not something that fit perfectly in that picture. Fleur wanted to ask, comfort even, but she decided against it. She took this short silence and glanced at her wrist watch. _Quarter-near-six_. She sighed heavily, it was time to go.

"I… need to go" Fleur softly said.

Hermione quickly looked up, her mouth could not form words as they opened then closed. Her lip thinned as she thought of something to reply. "I- I understand" was the only thing she could think of being logical and not awkward. It's not like she did not want the older girl to stay, she wanted to but what pushed her to actually let her guest go—even without letting her get her dose of coffee— was the fact that she actually did not know how to react anymore around the woman. _Yes, God Hermione, you are such—ugh._

Fleur took this as a sign to stand and collect her things. She then leaned over the counter and placed a hand on top of one steaming cup of coffee. "I'll hold you on that coffee, it tempted me very much and I didn't even have a chance to take a sip" she said barely a whisper, with a smirk pasted on her pinkish lips. The next thing Hermione felt was a smearing hot wet lip on the corner of her lips and then coldness. She watched as the back of the French lady disappeared from the kitchen and the door quietly shut with a click.

She just stood there. Maybe a little bit surprised by the French's gestures.

Now Hermione sat deflated, stirring her coffee, hand propped on the counter as her head heavily leaned on it. She gave a breathy sigh, she was savoring the sensation she still felt lingering on her cheeks. She blushed, repeatedly, at the moment she caught scent of Fleur's faint perfume when the blonde kissed her. Again and again the scene flashed in her closed eyes. And every time she felt her heart beating, irregularly at one point. It was not normal.

The door knob jingled and then clicked open. She leaned back in hopes to watch who came in, hoping of course for Fleur. Her face turned so suddenly into a frown when her eyes lay upon a drunken Ronald. She watched as Ronald stumbled into her apartment. Kicking his shoes off unethically like a snake and continuously disheveling his clothes on the floor. Hermione shook her head, disgusted at the picture she have seen. It was not because it was new to her but she just did not feel seeing Ron at his current state. It was not rare that she sees Ron drunk and more likely looking like an ass that obviously went out and partied with some whores. Yes, it was never a rare sight. With another disapproving shook of her head, she turned to her coffee again. Ignorance was the only thing she knew how to react.

"W-what's that you're drinking?" he slurred.

"Coffee, Ron. If you'd like to get sober, please do grab a cup" she said, sipping her coffee.

"Coffee at this hour? You should be having booze" he laughed. Hermione felt an arm around her shoulders and the scent of alcohol invades her senses. She felt Ron's breath on her ear; soon sloppy drunken kisses were showered on her ear to her throat. She suppressed a breathy moan when she felt Ron's hands roaming her body. Clutching and pinching her … sensitive parts.

"I'm not in the mood Ron-"

"Who'd have a bad mood after you've fucked? Come on babe, it's been days since we've done this" cooed Ronald. Hermione sighed heavily, grunting a bit at Ron's antics. She shrugged as she felt Ron's breath on her skin. He was leaning closer and Hermione knew what comes then was something she may not want to stop. Yes, _she may not want to stop_, she repeated in her head, for she—Hermione wanted some at the moment. Being sexually frustrated was something a horny teenager like her can't just ignore especially since she had some very interesting things that left her wanting for some. For her, Ron was the next best thing even if she wanted to or not. So, she started to lean as well but when he was about to push himself onto her, a very loud ring reverberated through the apartment—the door bell.

"Don't" Ron muttered, his breath tickling Hermione's lips. She looked at him to only purse her lips in a thoughtful moment.

"It's Ginny" she lied. Well, deeply, seriously for she prayed for it that Ginny was the one actually ringing the bell. She silently watched Ron who eventually gave up and retreated—begrudgingly so, to his own room. A bang followed through.

Hermione sighed in relief. So, now that was done, there was another thing that came up. Who was at the door in this late hour?

* * *

Hermione looked up when she heard a soft shuffle of paper and coins land on top of the marble-wood counter. She watched as the lady who passed by her sat gracefully on her usual spot that Tuesday morning, her trench coat laid neatly beside her and her morning paper already opened. Hermione's face contorts to a very confused look. She patiently waited for some sign from the lady; even just a slight hint about the note but there was none. So the only thing she knew what to do was give the lady a reply with, of course, her usual morning blend of coffee and bread. So, Hermione grabbed the cherry topped waffles and made a blend different from all the other blends she have done. She hummed in satisfaction, eyeing her work while continuously looking for unperfected details.

She approached the woman, sitting comfortably at the second booth.

There were no words exchange just the slightest clatter of china to wood was heard. Hermione turned around, tray at her chest and retreated to her haven. She slowly placed the tray down and fumbled on her apron for a handkerchief.

Ginny who watched this waltzed in before her brunette friend. She cocked her head, a questioned look sporting it. Hermione just shook her head and continued to hide her eyes on her white cloth. Ginny moved to the other side the counter, slowly guiding Hermione into the employees' area. What just happened? Ginny could only ask herself. Why was Hermione, crying?

"Shh… Hermione what's wrong?" cooed Ginny as she rubbed her friend's back. As soon as both girls went inside, Hermione's silent tears came out; she knew that if her friend had cried, something really terrible had happened. Not only that but it was a situation that needed constant supervision and comfort. Both ladies sat side to side, Hermione's head leaning on Ginny Weasley's shoulder.

"Is this about my brother?" she asked, her voice loud with raw emotion of anger towards her brother. Hermione shook from her sobs.

Ginny waited.

"Mione…"

"…" she only continued to cry. The last time Ginny saw her friend like this was the first break-up between her brother and this certain brunette. Of course they were young and Hermione was still in the clouds from all the romance she had been experiencing. It was something hard to give up, and Ginny knew that. But, as far as that was concerned, Ginny also knew that Hermione had vowed not to cry for Ronald again that day or so help her. So, if this was the case then, she, as the best friend had to step in.

"I'm going to bloody rip his balls out if he bloody did this to you Mione"

Hermione's head shot up. Her eyes widened at the sudden proclamation "w-wait, it's not what you think"

"Oh, if it's not then… why are you like that?"

Hermione bit her lip. "It's not entirely about that Ginny, it's my parents"

Ginny's mouth opened, and then closed. She was speechless. If Hermione's parents were involved it was something very big. Something that she knew had little solution with her help "They, found out about Ron staying in my apartment"

"And? Wait, let me guess…Well, obviously they had a bloody fit, what do you expect? That they'll be happy to see that pig I call a brother?" Hermione stayed silent, her head dropped down from shame.

"That's not even the worse part, Ginny…" croaked Hermione. She watched Ginny's eyes widened to match the shock she felt. The brunette groaned. She was unsure if it was the right time to tell her friend about the problem at hand. She sighed. Hermione was someone who did not like to depend on others; she was someone who wanted others to depend on her. This situation did not permit her to do the latter. What's worst Ginny was the only one she can turn to in her dire need.

She pressed her lips "They… removed my apartment privileges"

Gasp.

"They did not!"

Hermione Granger cringed at the mere mention of her apartment. Now, that her parents took her apartment privileges, it was meant that she had to find a new place. And, where would that even be? She was generous enough to give Ronald a place to stay but look where it got her? She lost her own house.

"They did."

* * *

[TBC on the Next installment]


End file.
